“Munchausen syndrome by proxy,” Dr. Ryan says.
“What now?” Slater asks.
“It’s a kind of mental illness. Dee Dee forced Gypsy to pretend she was sick. More than that, she tricked Gypsy into believing she was sick. Although ‘tricked’ may not be the right word. Chances are Dee Dee believed in Gypsy’s illness, too.”
“So you’re saying it’s Dee Dee who was mentally ill?”
“In so many words, yes.”
“How does that happen? What kind of misfire in the brain makes a mother hurt her own child?”
Dr. Ryan shrugs.
“Dee Dee didn’t think she was hurting Gypsy,” he says. “Quite the opposite. People break with reality when it isn’t meeting their needs.”
“That sounds awfully convenient. What was it Dee Dee Blancharde needed?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say security. Emotional security. I’m willing to bet she didn’t have any in her own childhood. She turned Gypsy into someone who couldn’t function without her. Someone who could never leave her. A lifetime of guaranteed love.”
Slater sniggers.
“She managed to squeeze a new house out of it, too. And a lot of swell trips. Not to mention the four grand Gypsy and Godejohn made off with.”
“That’s just part of the disease,” Dr. Ryan says. “The world owes me, so I won’t be shy about taking.”
Draper, who’d left to give Gypsy a short rest, is back now carrying two bottles of water and a bag of chips. She pulls open the bag, holds it out to Gypsy.
“Since you can now,” she says.
The gaps between Gypsy’s front teeth become painfully obvious when she chews.
“I want to talk about that night,” Draper says.
“You mean the night Mama died?”
“I mean the night she was murdered.”
Gypsy looks startled.
“Murdered? It was self-defense,” she says.
“No, it wasn’t. We need to be clear about that.”
“You don’t think she would’ve killed me the way we was going? Look at me. I took on ten pounds already and still I look like this.”
She holds her rail-thin arms out to the sides for Draper to examine.
“I understand,” Draper says. “But the problem is, you didn’t need to kill her to make yourself safe.”
Draper is trying to draw out some sign of remorse or responsibility—anything that might sit well with a jury.
“But I didn’t kill her,” Gypsy says. “Nicholas did that.”
“He held the knife, but you—”
“I was screaming for him to stop. Once he started, I didn’t want it no more. Mama, she didn’t hardly make no noise at all, but I was screaming so loud Nicholas just about ran out of the house. I loved my mama. I know that sounds crazy now, but I did. I loved her. I still do.”
Draper takes a long breath.
“So why did you let Nicholas into your home to kill her? I know you must have been angry. You must have—”
“It wasn’t ’cause I was angry. I mean, I was, but that wasn’t it.”
“What was it, then?”
“I didn’t see no other way.”
Gypsy reaches absently for the bag of chips, then pulls her hand away.
“I had this idea,” she says, “that I’d never be OK while Mama was still alive. I couldn’t just leave.”
“Because she’d find you?”
“That was part of it. She found me in Florida. But it wasn’t just that. It was like—I couldn’t undo what she done to me by myself. Someone who wasn’t me had done all these things to me, and I needed someone who wasn’t me to set it all right.”
Draper works to hide her confusion.
“You’re talking about revenge?” she asks.
“No, I ain’t. I…how was I supposed to know the whole world wasn’t like Mama? How was I supposed to run off if I didn’t know what I was running to? And Nicholas said he’d look after me. He was gonna take me with him to Canada. We were gonna live up in the mountains and he was gonna teach me to fish and hunt and ski. I hadn’t ever walked before, but now I was gonna ski down a mountain.”
“I understand,” Draper says.
She leans back, takes a quick drink of water. She feels suddenly as though she could sleep for days on end.
Outside the room, Dr. Ryan turns back to Slater.
“She wasn’t just leaving her mother,” he says. “She was leaving a universe. A universe that included just one other person. She couldn’t imagine that world going on without her.”
“So now you’re a shrink?” Slater asks.
“Just an observer,” Dr. Ryan says.
They go back to watching the interview.
“What’s gonna happen to me now?” Gypsy asks.
“That’s up to the judge and jury.”
“But what about now?”
“You’ll have to wait for your trial in jail.”
“But they can’t do nothing too bad to me, right? On account of my age.”
“What do you mean?” Draper asks.
“I mean I ain’t an adult yet, so they can’t lock me up for real.”
“But you’re…”
And then Draper understands.
“Gypsy,” she says, “how old do you think you are?”
Gypsy rolls her eyes.
“I know how old I am,” she says. “Fifteen next month.”
“Gypsy,” Draper says, “we have a copy of your birth certificate. You’re nineteen years old.”
Gypsy giggles a little, then turns serious as this final lie sinks in.
“Jesus Christ,” Slater says.
“Now are you convinced?” Dr. Ryan asks. “That girl has lived her whole life in an alternative reality. She doesn’t know this world that you and I live in.”
“Well,” Slater says, “prison should get her up to speed.”
“You think she deserves that?” Dr. Ryan asks.
Slater shrugs.
“I think it isn’t up to me.”